


Forward

by Seefin



Series: Headway [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Auror Draco Malfoy, Auror Harry Potter, Draco pov, Established Relationship, HP: EWE, I'm establishing their only partly established relationship, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 05:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14129262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seefin/pseuds/Seefin
Summary: “I’m not jealous, though,” Draco informed him. “I don’t care what you and the rest of the golden trio choose to do with yourselves, obviously, but I’m definitely not.”





	Forward

**Author's Note:**

> [ _so tired of waiting_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i00_qTtyxWM)
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> this is just so so unedited and I apologise in advance if a) there are spelling errors, or b) nothing makes any fucking sense

1\. 

Draco went to the toilet and washed his hands, just for something to do. Potter didn’t have any soap in his guest bathroom, because he was incompetent, so Draco just put his hands under the cold tap for a bit and tried, unsuccessfully, to remember a good disinfectant charm. He could hear Granger talking out in the living room while he dried his hands on one of Potter’s scratchy towels, every single word she was saying. Draco didn’t really feel bad about listening in, it was an old apartment with thin walls and Potter should honestly know better. 

They said his name, a few times, so he bent down to look in the cabinet under the sink. He rummaged through the empty shampoo bottles, trying to make as much noise as possible. Granger had started to talk about her emotions, which was completely unbearable. He’d just found an unopened bar of generic soap, covered in thick dust and a layer of general detritus, just as the crack of an apparition rang through the apartment. 

He took it out of the box, unwrapped it, and then put it into the soap dish Potter had placed beside the tap, which up until this point had been completely redundant. Then he went back out into the living room. 

Potter was splayed out on the sofa, much the way Draco had left him, except now he was drinking out of a bottle of wine, holding it by the neck. Some ran out of the side of his swollen mouth, down his chin, and Draco rolled his eyes. 

“I suppose you think this is very attractive,” Draco said, folding his arms. 

Potter stopped drinking, gasped for breath for a moment, and then surveyed the amount of wine still left in the bottle. He held it out to Draco, who of course declined to take it, since he wasn’t in the habit of drinking wine from a supermarket. 

“I wasn’t thinking about it,” Potter said, and swiped at his chin with the back of his hand. He screwed the cap back onto the wine, which horrified Draco to his very core, and then put it on the floor beside the sofa leg. “I’m having a bit of a crisis,” he said. 

“Oh do tell,” Draco said, except that it didn’t come out nearly as sarcastic as he’d been trying for. He sat down on the sofa beside Potter’s feet, which were then placed promptly in his lap. He didn’t move them, the way he usually would, since Potter was going through a difficult time. 

Potter, who didn’t enjoy sharing, at least not with Draco, made a face. “I need to piss,” he then said, but made no move to actually stand up. Draco considered him for a moment. He didn’t know if this was one of these scenarios where someone said they didn’t want to talk but actually did, and then got offended when you didn’t ask any more questions. 

“Avoidance isn’t healthy,” Draco advised, and patted Potter’s calf. He was starting to think maybe they weren’t going to get to have sex tonight. Granger had ruined everything with her stupid wine and her stupid emotions.

Potter grunted, and then shrugged, and then didn’t do anything further. Draco sighed. “I heard you talking about me,” he said. 

Potter’s eyes went wide and terrified. “Oh my god,” he said, flushing. “I didn’t realise.”

“How long have you lived here?” Draco asked, and then waved it away. “It doesn’t matter. But I don’t appreciate being laughed at.”

“We weren’t laughing at you,” Potter said, sitting up a little, pulling his feet out of Draco’s lap. “I was laughing at Hermione.”

“Does Draco get jealous?” Draco said. Imitated. “And then you laughed.”

“Oh jesus,” Potter said seriously. “No I didn’t, I swear I didn’t. I wouldn’t laugh at that.” He had got a very intent look on his face, one that made it impossible not to believe him. 

“Alright,” Draco said, and was silent for a moment. “Anyway whatever I don’t get jealous,” he then continued, in a rush. 

“I know,” Potter said. “Actually I’m really sick of talking about how jealous we all are of each other.”

“I’m not jealous, though,” Draco informed him. “I don’t care what you and the rest of the golden trio choose to do with yourselves, obviously, but I’m definitely not.”

“Can you not refer to us as the golden trio,” Potter said. “I feel like I’m talking to Rita Skeeter.”

“Don’t use that tone about Rita,” Draco said, affronted. He hadn’t spoken to her in quite a while, now that he thought about it, and resolved to send her an owl at the earliest possible moment. 

Potter rolled his eyes. “Remind me to tell you a couple of the things she said to me in school,” he said. 

“She was lovely to  _ me _ in school,” Draco said. “And  _ I  _ wasn’t the one who was the literal saviour of the entire wizarding world, so I don’t know what she could have said that offended you so much.”

“Um,” Potter said, and got a weird look on his face. As though he was thinking. 

“You must have misunderstood her,” Draco decided. “She can be a bit odd.”

“Okay,” Potter said, shaking his head very hard. “This conversation’s got away from me.”

“Right, well,” Draco said. “I realise it’s probably too much to ask that you not talk about me behind my back to Granger and Weasley but--” 

“Oh god,” Potter interjected, and reached over to pull at Draco’s shoulder, tugging him closer. 

“Can you not do it where I can hear,” Draco said, falling forwards and catching himself with one hand on the arm of the sofa. He arranged himself so that he was lying almost completely on Potter’s body, and tried to make himself as heavy as possible. 

Potter licked his lips. “Sorry,” he said, gone all solemn. “You’re right.” 

Draco started to smile. “Don’t take that the wrong way,” Potter said hurriedly. “I only meant about this specific issue.” 

Draco grinned. “Too late,” he said, immeasurably cheered. 

Potter leant his head up and caught Draco’s mouth, then wriggled his arm out from underneath Draco’s stomach in order to stroke it through Draco’s hair. He kissed Draco for a very long time, slow as anything, until Draco stopped thinking about Granger and Weasley and Rita and basically everything else in the entire world, apart from Potter’s lips on his, the heat of his mouth, his body stretched out underneath Draco’s. 

 

2.

Draco was in the reception dropping off some paperwork when Weasley portkeyed in with the rest of his team -looking bruised and dirty but otherwise unharmed- which meant that he was one of the first people to know that they were back. 

He took a detour on the way to his office via the one Potter shared with his new partner, which was two floors below and tucked in beside the lift shaft, where the walls were so thin that you could hear them rushing past all day. There was a pretty complex system when it came to office assignment, but it was generally understood that new Auror pairs got the worst rooms, and had to work themselves up. Draco and his partner had had the same office for two years, on the corner of the building, with views out of the big windows over the nearby rooftops.

Draco knocked on the door of Potter’s office, and then went inside when he heard it unlock. Potter’s partner was glowering at Draco from his desk, hunched over a map so large that some of it was spilling over onto the floor. 

“Can I help you?” he said. 

Draco didn’t remember his name. Had actually made a point of not remembering, since he was so rude. “I doubt it,” Draco said apologetically. 

Potter popped his head up from a document he’d been reading. “Oh,” he said. “Hi Malfoy.” 

“Weasley’s back,” Draco said, leaning against the wall. All of their spare seats were covered in stacks of paper and old coffee cups and plastic containers filled with leftover takeaway food. 

“Oh!” Potter said, and started to get up. A bundle of memos fell from his lap onto the floor, and he ignored it. Draco couldn’t even begin to fathom how they’d managed to accrue such a vast amount of crap in this room, being as they’d only been working in here for two weeks. 

“Oi,” Potter’s partner said. “We’re working, you can’t just leave.” 

“I’ll be back in-- five minutes,” Potter told him, halfway to the door already. “He’s been gone for ages. I was almost finished reading that anyway." He gestured vaguely at his desk.

“Fine,” Potter’s partner said, frowning. “But don’t be longer.” 

“Okay,” Potter agreed, pushing his way past Draco into the hallway. “I definitely won’t be.” 

Draco followed him. “He’s rude,” he said, and then shut the door behind them. 

“He probably fucking heard that,” Potter said, rolling his eyes. He started making his way down the hallway to reception.    


“I didn’t even tell you where they were,” Draco said, hurrying to catch up. 

Potter shoved their shoulders together companionably. “Everyone always comes into the same place when they get back from missions,” he pointed out, which was accurate, and started walking a bit faster. 

Draco stopped him when they reached the stairwell, pulling on Potter’s sleeve. “I’ve got to go,” Draco said, nodding his head up the stairs.

Potter stopped, turned to him. “Oh, right” he replied absently. “Thanks for getting me.” 

“It’s alright,” Draco said. “Listen, about tonight--” 

“I’ll be there,” Potter said. “Seven, right?”

Draco nodded. “Don’t forget,” he said, looking down the hallway over Potter’s shoulder. It was deserted, dark. The lights didn’t work properly on this level until you went into the public areas. 

Potter laughed a little. “I won’t forget,” he said. “But I’d better go.” 

“Even though Weasley’s back,” Draco said. 

“I’ve had it in my planner for weeks,” Potter assured him, and started backing down the hallway. “I promise I’ll be there.”

“Right,” Draco said, and paused. “You know Astoria’s going to be there too.” 

Potter didn’t even falter. “I know,” he said. “I assumed, I mean. Draco I’ve got to go. Alan has me on a fucking time limit.” 

“Okay,” Draco said, watching him. Potter turned around, almost running now, down the corridor to where Weasley was.

 

3\. 

Draco apparated over to the Manor not very long after he’d left Potter, stopping over at his apartment to pick up his mother’s birthday present. He ate lunch with her in the dining room before going upstairs to get ready, and was asleep by the time Potter climbed into bed with him. He only really woke up properly when he realised it was getting dark outside. “What time is it?” Draco asked. 

“Five,” Potter replied, hushed like he didn’t want to wake Draco up any more. “I just got off work.” 

“I came home early to prepare,” Draco told him, and closed his eyes again. “But obviously that meant I just wanted to sleep.” 

“Obviously,” Potter echoed, crowding in closer and wrapping his arms around Draco, slipping a leg in between Draco’s thighs. It was too hot under the covers, but Draco couldn’t be bothered with moving. 

“Can you take the duvet off,” he mumbled, and then felt it being tugged down off his shoulders. 

He tucked his face into Potter’s neck, who smelled very much as though he’d been sitting in an office all day. Draco didn’t really mind. “You’re early,” he said. “Did you run into my mother on the way in?”

Potter had only ever really been in this room once, on the first night they’d slept together. They’d kissed in the toilets of a pub, messy and drunk and a lot like all those scenarios Draco had imagined for himself at the very height of his angry crush on Potter in fourth year. Draco had felt so much like a teenager again that he’d apparated them into his old bedroom by accident. It had been incredibly embarrassing.

“I just apparated straight in,” Potter replied, his breath hot on Draco’s cheek. “I think that’s probably what woke you up.” 

Draco shook his head slightly. “I didn’t hear you.” 

“Okay,” Potter said, settling himself down against the mattress. “Good.” 

“How’s the mission prep going?” Draco asked. He was slightly jealous that Potter was getting to go out into the field, when Draco hadn’t been out of London in five months and was starting to get carpal tunnel from all the fucking arrest paperwork he’d been having to fill out. Opportunities to go on missions were getting less and less as the months went past, as the Death Eaters started getting more tired, lax, easily caught. 

“Good,” Potter replied. “Really good. I’m excited.” 

Draco nodded again. “I’m pleased for you,” he said. 

“It’s my first time in the field since I joined,” Potter said, as though Draco somehow wouldn’t know that. Everyone knew that. Everyone talked about it, how long Potter had taken to get used to all the rules, how bad his spell theory had been. A lot of people, Draco included, had assumed since Potter had had so much practical experience with dark wizards, he was going to be automatically good at being an Auror. It turned out that a lot of the shit Potter had done was frowned upon when you weren’t in a war though. And it wasn’t like Potter knew how to do anything else. 

“It’s going to go well,” Draco said. He wasn’t allowed to ask about it. Even though he technically had a way higher clearance than Potter did, you were discouraged from talking about ongoing investigations with people who weren’t involved. Draco knew Potter was going away though, up north to a city, the name of which he hadn’t yet let slip.

“Do you want to nap more?” Potter asked. 

Draco snorted. “I should probably get up,” he said. “My mother will be wanting actual help with preparations, rather than just the fake preparation where I sleep for five hours.” 

“We’ve got ages,” Potter said, and rolled Draco onto his back. “And such a lovely bed.” 

Draco laughed, opened his eyes to see Potter above him, his face blurry in the dim light. “That’s such a line,” he said. 

“It would be such a shame to waste it,” Potter replied, wide eyed and serious for a moment until he laughed too. “I know,” he said. “That was really bad.” 

“We aren’t teenagers,” Draco agreed. “We both own actual houses with actual beds.” 

“I know,” Potter said. “No more making the most of an empty dorm room.” 

Draco made a face. “Please don’t remind me about being a teenager,” he said. “That was terrible.” 

“Sexually?” Potter asked, and then laughed helplessly when Draco punched him in the arm, not hard enough to hurt. Draco pushed Potter away, the whole laughing lot of him, and then pressed him back into the soft mattress. Potter went easily. 

“I hate you,” Draco said. 

Potter continued to laugh. “Pull the other one,” he said, and kept laughing even as Draco undid all of the buttons on the front of his shirt, and the ones on his trousers too. 

Draco got his boxers out of the way. Potter wasn’t hard yet but Draco went down on him for a bit anyway, until he was and he had his hands in Draco’s hair. He came in Draco’s mouth and then let Draco kiss him, languid, and then let Draco fuck him. Urged Draco to fuck him, until he came again and couldn’t talk anymore, just lay there panting and still somehow laughing a little. He looked so good like this, naked and sweating, his hair a dark tangle against the pillowcase, and Draco would have him here all the time if he could. 

Draco was dozing again when he heard people starting to arrive downstairs, and his mother calling to him faintly. He pushed Potter into the shower and washed his hair for him, and then got his formal robes on in a huge rush, spelling himself dry. 

“I got your mum a present,” Potter said, sitting on Draco’s unmade bed in his dark thobe, top button on the collar undone. Draco, who was still in the process of trying to do up a thousand small buttons on his horrible green robes, looked over at him. 

“You did?” he said. “What?”

“A vase,” Potter replied, a weird look on his face. “I didn’t know what-- I don’t know what’s appropriate. I asked Hermione.”

“That’s so nice of you,” Draco said, abandoning his buttons. “Do you know a spell for this?” he asked. 

Potter nodded and the buttons did up by themselves, all at the same time. Draco crossed the room to kiss him.

“That’s so nice of you,” he said again, pulling back. Potter’s lips were wet.

Potter shrugged awkwardly. “I hope she likes it,” he said. “I know she-- I know you’re close with her.”

Draco’s mother was very picky about gifts, and also about vases, but Draco chose not to disclose that information. “Ready?” he asked. 

Potter nodded, kissed Draco again, leaning up into him. 

Draco wondered for a moment where Weasley and Granger were this evening, while Potter was here with him, for his mother’s birthday, in his childhood bedroom. Draco leant over him more, kissed him even more firmly. He didn’t know why he was always thinking about them, it wasn’t as though anything good was going to come of it. 

 

4.

Potter had been gone for twenty minutes and Draco was already missing him, a little too drunk in the emptied-out conservatory, the party long since over. Not many people had come. Not like they used to.

Astoria was still here, sprawled out at the other end of the chaise longue with her head on Draco’s calf. Greg was opposite them on Draco’s mother’s favourite sofa, in the process of passing out. 

Draco leant his head against the soft fabric, looking up at the glass roof. The ceiling was charmed so that you could always see stars, no matter what it was like outside. It had been like that as long as Draco could remember; apparently his mother had done the spellwork when he’d been a toddler. 

“I can see why you like him,” Astoria said, her voice muffled. Draco leant down to check on her, but she only had her face smashed up against a pillow. Her hair had come loose all over her cheek. This was maybe the most relaxed he’d ever seen her. She moved slightly to the side, so she could speak clearly. “He’s a lot nicer than some of the other people you’ve slept with.” 

Astoria had a real talent for making compliments sound almost exactly like insults. 

“I wasn’t expecting him to be as nice as he is,” Draco told her. “He was a real prick in school.”

Greg made a horrid snorting sound, as if he was waking from a very deep sleep, and piped up. “That never stopped you from wanting to fuck him,” he said, and Astoria started laughing. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Draco asked, even though he already knew exactly what Greg meant and suspected he was digging himself into a pretty significant hole at this point.

“He just seems like such a good person,” she mused. “It’s so odd. He doesn’t strike me as the sort of person you’d like. Earlier he asked me what  _ sorbet _ was, Draco.” 

Draco smiled, and hoped neither of them would see it, because the look on his face was probably impossibly fond. “Well, that doesn’t mean anything,” he said.   


“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Astoria argued. “I wish Pansy were here to back me up. He’s completely generic.” 

Draco stared down at her, and started to laugh, hard enough that his chest started hurting. Harry Potter was a wonder, actually, a complete marvel whichever way one looked at it, but Draco supposed she could think what she liked. Merlin knows he’d probably said the exact same thing a hundred times over to Pansy. 

“I have no idea why you were so obsessed with him in school,” Astoria continued. “Or now, actually.” 

“You don’t know the half of it,” Greg mumbled from his sofa. 

Draco glared at him. “Could you stop it with the interjections,” he said. “You’re making me look bad.”

“Good,” Greg said, and closed his eyes. 

“Just because he’s not rich,” Draco muttered. 

Astoria pinched his thigh. “That doesn’t have anything to do with it,” she said. “He’s like some stupid family dog that never met a person it didn’t like. He’s  _ incessantly  _ nice.” 

“Oh I don’t know,” Draco said, and blinked a few times. A soft frond from the fern next to his head reached over and touched his face, and Draco didn’t have the energy to bat it away the way he usually did. He’d had a little too much to drink, maybe. “He’s not perfect.”

Anyway Draco knew Potter could be mean. He had firsthand experience with just how  _ not nice  _ he could be. Draco knew Potter was probably going to hurt him again, and probably quite badly, and mostly Draco hoped that when it happened it would be an accident. He didn’t think he could bear Potter hurting him on purpose. 

“Draco,” Astoria said, her voice twinkling. He nodded. “Why are you marrying me?” Greg, ever subtle, started to breathe heavier than he had been before. Draco wasn’t fooled, but he appreciated the gesture. “You should have seen him. I mean- you did, I- I think he’s just as obsessed with you as you are with him.” 

Draco let out a breath, shaky and thin. “You know why I’m marrying you,” he said. 

She turned her head, kissed his knee, and her voice was so gentle when she spoke, it almost made him want to cry. “Nobody cares anymore,” she said. “I know you think it’ll be good for you mother, that it’ll make things better, but-- that’s over. Nobody cares about us. Nobody cares what we do.” 

“That’s--” Draco started, but couldn’t figure out how to finish. Astoria tucked her hand under his calf.

“Nobody hates us,” Astoria said, “they just don’t give a fuck. The wedding wouldn’t even be news, Draco.” 

“I don’t know,” Draco said nonsensically. 

“Things used to be shit,” Greg said, apparently done with faking sleep. “I dunno why you’d want to, like, go back to the time when arranged marriages were even-- what’s the word.”

“Necessary,” Astoria said, and Greg nodded. 

Draco put his face into a pillow. “”It’s not just that,” he said. 

“What else is it,” Greg asked, his voice low.

“Why are you marrying me?” Draco said, patting Astoria haphazardly on her perfect smooth hair. 

She shrugged against his legs. “I like you. My mother is demanding it. I don’t think Pansy is ever going to want to settle down.” 

Draco swallowed. She didn’t even sound sad. Those were objectively sad things, he thought. “Okay,” he said, and shoved his face further in against the back of the chaise longue, where the fabric smelled weird and musty. He tried not to breathe too deeply, and felt maybe as though he might be having a breakdown. “I don’t think Potter will ever want to settle down with anyone that isn’t Weasley or Granger,” he said, hoping maybe they wouldn’t hear him. 

Greg, loudly, hoisted himself out of the sofa and came over to put a hand on Draco’s exposed shoulder, which meant he presumably had. Astoria didn’t move. 

“Neither of us are even trying,” she said, and Draco didn’t know how to respond to that. She still didn’t sound sad. 

 

5.

Draco was in the staff break room near his office, trying to make the microwave work for once, when Potter found him, panting and out of breath in the doorway. 

“Isn’t there a break room on your floor?” Draco asked, as Potter collapsed into one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs. 

“It doesn’t have windows,” Potter managed, and put his head between his knees. 

“Where have you been?” Draco asked. He got Potter a glass of water from the sink, and placed it in front of him on the table. Potter nodded in thanks. 

“Oh you know,” Potter said, and then stopped talking to down the entire glass. Draco didn’t know, which was why he’d asked. 

“Why doesn’t your break room have windows?” Draco asked. He pushed a couple of buttons hopefully, but nothing happened. He checked the plug again, feeling like a fool, but it was definitely on. He opened and closed the microwave door, then opened and slammed the microwave door. Potter was staring. 

“None of the rooms on my floor have windows,” Potter said. “My office doesn’t even have them. It’s some quirk of the architecture. I have no idea why, it’s not like we’re underground.” 

“My office has a view of some rooftops,” Draco said, “and some dodgy back gardens in Diagon Alley. So you’re not missing out.” 

“You’re just trying to make me feel better,” Potter said, getting up to pour himself some more water. He looked over Draco’s shoulder, watching him fumble with the machine. 

“Where were you really?” Draco asked. Potter reached around him and pressed something that made the microwave start working, and Draco almost fainted in relief. “Merlin,” he said. “Thank fuck. I thought I was going to have to eat cold carrot soup for the second day in a row.” 

Potter wrinkled his nose, and sat back down. “I was just doing some stuff,” he said, which Draco thought was a very obscure thing to say. “I got a weird note sent to my office. A weird letter, actually.” 

Draco turned to look at him. Potter did seem a little more flushed than usual, actually, his hair all over the place from running. “What kind of note?” he asked, the microwave a steady hum in the background. He went over to Potter, leant against the table. 

Potter took a piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to Draco. It was a photocopy of a short letter, unsigned, with no return address. The handwriting was neat, almost as neat as Draco’s. He scanned it first, and then read it slowly. 

The contents were-- vivid. It was a long, detailed threat, and Draco’s heart started to beat hard. He knew Potter was a target for this kind of stuff, but it didn’t usually reach him. The Auror department had a pretty good sorting process when it came to letters and packages for employees. They wouldn’t let just anything in. 

“Merlin,” Draco said again, feeling sick. “When did you get this? Did it go to your office?” 

Potter was already nodding by the time Draco finished. “Yeah, about half an hour ago. I took it to Hermione first, and then went to reception to ask who’d been in or if it came in the post or whatever. And then I came here.” 

The microwave beeped, and stopped, and Draco ignored it. Someone wanted to kill Potter. Actively. Currently. For some reason Draco always thought that was a sentiment exclusive to him, back when he was a useless child who didn’t have the heart for it. Draco was a very safe person to have as a sworn enemy, but this-- this person who wanted to murder Potter could be anyone. 

Draco put his hand on the back of Potter’s neck. There was nobody here to see them. 

“It’s alright,” he said. “I mean-- if you’ve gone to see Granger. She’ll figure it out.” 

Potter leant back into his touch, turned his cheek into Draco’s hand, his face warm. Draco’s whole body ached, looking at him. He couldn’t think why anyone would want to--

“Oh,” Potter said, as a memo burst noisily into the room and threw itself down in Potter’s lap, unfolding itself with absolutely no care for the fact that Draco was here to see. He pulled away, and Draco put his hand in his lap. They both read the note, Draco peering over Potter’s hunched shoulders. “I’d better go,” Potter said eventually. “Hermione said she found something.” 

“Yes,” Draco said. He felt slightly faint. “Be careful.” 

Potter stood, looked at him, grinned as though nothing in his life had ever ended badly. “I know,” he said. “Enjoy your soup. I’ll be back soon.”

*

And he was back soon, ten minutes later, by which time Draco had retreated into his office with his lukewarm soup, convinced that those would be the last words Potter ever said to him. He hadn’t touched the soup, partly out of spite.

His partner was out somewhere, so when a knock came at the door Draco thought for a moment it would be her. She’d started knocking ever since the time she walked in on Pansy and Draco getting off late in the evening, right at the start of when they’d been assigned an office together. Draco always felt bad about that.

“It’s safe,” he said absently, staring at his shitty soup. 

Potter came through the door, clothes equally as creased as they had been before, sporting no injuries, as far as Draco could tell. Draco couldn’t even begin to process the relief he felt at seeing Potter’s lopsided smile and horrid glasses and lovely, lovely face. 

“Okay,” Potter said, apparently already halfway through a conversation. “Hermione looked at the CCTV footage.”    


“We have that?” Draco said, getting up so that he could move his spare dress shoes off the seat in front of his desk. Potter didn’t sit down though, and instead went to the window, flicking his fingers against the panes of glass. 

“Apparently,” Potter replied. “In public areas at least.” He looked away from the window, at Draco. “Someone dropped the letter off, imperiused the receptionist. She’s talking with Ron now.” 

Draco bit the inside of his mouth, frowned. “Did you see their face?” Potter nodded. “That’s sloppy.” 

“There’s a photo,” Potter said, and took it out of his jacket pocket. He handed it over. “Do you recognise him?” 

The man was pale, with dark dark hair and black clothes. He didn’t look-- special. He didn’t look like anyone.

“No,” Draco said. “I’ve never arrested him. I’ve never seen him on a wanted poster.” 

“Yeah but--” Potter said, and then cut himself off. When Draco glanced up at him, he was staring out of the window. 

“You--” Draco said, then paused for a moment. There was a little bruise right on the side of Potter’s jaw. Draco didn’t think he’d been the one to put it there. “Do you think he was a Death Eater?” 

Potter looked at him, then. “Was,” he said carefully. “Is, maybe.” 

Draco studied the picture. It was a still, for some reason, which made it harder. “I don’t know,” he said. “I still don’t recognise him.” 

“It was a long time ago,” Potter allowed. 

Draco took a deep breath. “I’d remember,” he said, and Potter didn’t try to argue. 

 

6.

A few nights later Draco stayed over at Potter’s place after they’d been out for a meal. Potter took him to a cafe in Vauxhall that was the size of someone’s living room, and they ate cheap lasagne and drank a bottle of red wine between them. He held Draco’s hand on the underground, and Draco didn’t ever want to stop touching him. 

“I was so worried about you,” Draco said later, when they were in Potter’s bed, which was lumpy. He passed his hand over Potter’s face, put a finger on the bridge of his nose. 

“When?” Potter asked him, smiling. They’d left the light on near the window. Potter looked like he was made of gold. 

“The other day,” Draco said, definitely not smiling. “When that person-- said all those things.” 

Potter hadn’t heard anything since, but Draco had had a nightmare about it the other night, sleeping by himself. Potter’s blood on the pavement. 

Draco held onto his shoulder, tight. Potter looked at him. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t have let you read it,” he said. 

“Maybe,” Draco agreed. “We’re going to catch him though.” 

“Maybe,” Potter echoed, and got a look on his face as though he wanted to say something. Luckily, and as ever, it didn’t take very long for that look to translate into Potter blurting out whatever he was thinking about. “I thought you said you didn’t want things to be serious with us,” he said, and then flushed vividly. 

Draco frowned, as Potter continued. “You said all that stuff about how like-- incompatible we were. The first time we had sex. Do you remember?”

Draco nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I remember.” 

“So that’s the assumption I’ve been working under,” Potter said awkwardly. “Kind of. I don’t know. I think that maybe you are serious about me and you just didn’t want to say anything.” 

“I think I was wrong when I said that to you,” Draco confessed. He lay very still against the mattress. Potter’s ankle lay across his, warm where their skin was pressed together. 

“So you don’t think that anymore,” Potter said, like he was confirming it. 

Draco swallowed. He couldn’t look away from Potter’s face, his neck, the collar of the t-shirt he’d not taken off when Draco sucked him off. Draco hooked his finger into Potter’s t-shirt and tugged on it, once. “No,” he said. “I don’t still think that.” 

Potter was quiet for a while. “What do we do?” he said eventually, a question to which Draco did not hold any particularly good answers. 

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, listened to the traffic outside rush past. Potter lived on a pretty busy street, but never cast silencing charms. Apparently the noise from the cars helped him fall asleep. Potter moved in closer to him, sliding his leg further underneath Draco’s.

“I don’t know,” Draco said, after a moment. But he thought maybe he did know. One thing at least. “I don’t think I’m marrying Astoria,” he said, and let Potter curl up into him, put his hand on Draco’s chest. 

Potter didn’t say anything else after that, but he closed his eyes and he breathed out hard against Draco’s bare shoulder, shaky, relieved.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. [here is my tumblr](http://seefin.tumblr.com/)  
> 2\. I have one (1) more part planned out for this, the only thing I think I'll ever give a proper ending


End file.
